Don't You Dare Be Late
by KennyEchelon
Summary: Peggy goes to the Stork Club, as arranged, desperately hoping that Steve makes it to their date. OC- Lewis Williamson. Prequel to 'F is for Fondue'.


**Don't You Dare Be Late**

_2000 hours, The Stork Club, East 53__rd__ Street,__New York City, NY_

Everyone was dancing, the men giving their hands to young ladies and promising to stay with them for song, or maybe offering longer than that. The only people not on the dance-floor were a few disgruntled girls who hadn't been asked yet and the nervous guys who hadn't plucked up the courage to ask. But at least _they_ were willing to participate.

Sat at the bar, knocking back her second whiskey was a petite brunette. She stared at the doorway, muttering to herself. "Come on Steve, I told you to be on time" she whispered. She swirled her empty glass around nervously, making the ice chink against the sides. The sound began to irritate her as she anxiously waited for him, so she put it down and started adjusting her new dress. It was as blue as the Captain America uniform, accentuated by her usual red lipstick.

"Don't you dare be late" she whispered, her eyes welling up with tears. Her view of the entrance became clouded over so she blinked and looked at her wristwatch. It was 20.01.

The band slowed down and she remembered his last words. _"We'll have the band play something slow. I'd hate to step on your-"_

A wave of nausea arose at the memory. She felt like sobbing but after a week and a half she had no tears left to cry. She entered the bathroom and splashed water on her cheeks to clam herself down, carefully avoiding the rest of her make-up. Looking into the mirror while re-applying the powder to her face, she took in her reflection. She was a lot thinner now after not being able to bring herself to eat anything since the incident. The rest of the unit had noticed but they hadn't wanted to say anything. Behind all that macho bravado, they really had no clue how to treat a woman.

She left the bathroom, tugging her dress to get rid of any creases, her head held high. "He's going to make it" she thought desperately "He is. He's going to come walking through those doors an hour late and I'll berate him on his tardiness."

_2100 hours, The Stork Club, East 53__rd__ Street, Manhattan, New York City, NY_

She was sat on her barstool, a lump rising in her throat as she flicked through the notes in her purse. "You're late, Steve" she whispered.

She ordered her third whiskey; the intoxication from her first two had almost worn off. She knocked it back, not caring if it looked unfeminine or unsightly. As a soldier, she had to deal with people seeing her as masculine all the time. And as a soldier, she thought she deserved a few drinks for serving her country and going through that hell. The liquid burned her already uncomfortable throat as she swallowed down any emotion she had. The glass hit the bar counter with a thud and the ice inside tinkled. She rested one elbow on the wood, supporting her head on her palm.

"It's not like you promised though" she thought, her heart sinking.

It took her a minute to realise that a figure was stood by her and he cleared his throat, alerting her of his presence. Her heart leapt into her mouth and she snapped her head to face him thinking: "you came."

Her smile faltered as she looked into the eyes of a complete stranger. A tall, dark, handsome stranger, but he was a stranger nonetheless.

He chuckled. "Expecting someone else? What's a pretty girl like you doing at the bar, shouldn't you be dancing with your fella?"

His words hit her with the force of a tank.

"Th-there's no fella" she choked out "I lost my dance partner."

"Oh, British" he said, sounding pleasantly surprised. He turned on the charm in an instant. "Well, I'm sorry to hear about your guy but I'd hate to see your face wasted on the barman."

She almost cracked a smile at how cheesy he was being. She was more than used to men chatting her up at work and definitely knew how to handle them.

"Lewis Williamson" he said, extending his hand to kiss the back of hers but she was having none of that romantic nonsense. She took the outstretched hand and shook it. "Peggy Carter."

By that point, the alcohol hit her again. She would've been perfectly happy sat by herself but when Lewis asked her to dance, she didn't say no. She justified it by saying that life was too short. Her army career taught her that much.

"Don't worry. I'm not gonna step on your toes, beautiful."

Peggy's gut clenched painfully but she handled the situation and pretended like it hadn't happened. It was time to use her military background to her advantage. They were trained not to let grief affect them and she only just managed to act like it wasn't.

Lewis took her by the waist as the band played a medium-tempo number.

Their feet moved together to the familiar tune. It was obvious he was well-practiced and she was taught all the dances since she was a girl. Together they looked perfect, but something wasn't right. It didn't feel the same.

Peggy concentrated on the dance as the band sped up to a crescendo, losing herself in it, desperately trying to escape the rush of emotion that threatened to drown her. They span around together quickly and she felt her feelings overcome her slowly. Struggling to keep her head focused on the steps, it was hard to breathe. Couples surrounded them and she felt claustrophobic all of a sudden. She forced a smile onto her face to keep herself from cracking.

Until she saw him…

He was unmistakeable. He had dark blonde hair combed to one side, wearing an army uniform over developed muscles. His expression, rather than the determined smile he wore around her, was troubled and upset. It was Steve.

He left the dancehall with his head lowered as if in defeat.

Peggy whispered his name and broke apart from her partner, meandering between the other couples. Her eyes stayed focused on the door and she quickened her pace. She was practically jogging by the time she was at the exit.

_2110 hours, East 53__rd__ Street, Manhattan, New York, NY._

She slipped through the doorway, calling his name but he wouldn't turn around. She became louder, her face lighting up with hope. The gap between them was getting smaller and Peggy reached out her arm, longing for any form of physical contact.

"Steve!" Her hand finally rested on his shoulder and he turned around.

What was left of her resolve shattered. The face that stared blankly back at her wasn't Steve Rogers, not the hero she knew. It was just another stranger's face. He looked at her as if she was crazy, then shrugged her off and walked away.

Peggy felt like she'd been shot squarely in the chest. She believed that he would be able to be there. No, it was more like a desperate hope, praying that he'd still be alive. She knew deep down that it was unlikely he would've survived but this just confirmed her worst fears.

As the blond stranger walked away, she couldn't hold it in any longer. She collapsed to her knees on the sidewalk, burying her hands into her curls, ruining her perfectly pinned style. The tears started, rolling down her face without control and she sobbed noisily.

Luke burst through the door after her but instead of doing anything, he stood lamely behind her. His male charm could only work so many wonders and despite all of his self-confidence, he could not cheer up a woman in that state.

Peggy's knees were grazed by the cold surface of the cement but she didn't care. Even though her stockings were torn and her make-up was running down her face, the only thing that mattered was that Steve was gone.

She felt empty, her eyes burning from the tears and her face cold from the air on her damp cheeks. People walked around her, giving her looks that ranged from wary to sympathetic. But no-one helped.

She felt angry at herself for losing control but this emotion was dominated by her grief. Her army training had dissolved under the pressure.

"_You said you'd be here."_


End file.
